


Satin and Lace

by dhampir72, procoffeinating



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types, Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Blow Jobs, Light BDSM, Lingerie, M/M, Office Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Stockings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-30 10:52:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6420868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dhampir72/pseuds/dhampir72, https://archiveofourown.org/users/procoffeinating/pseuds/procoffeinating
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bond and Q try something new.</p><p>(For the MI6 Cafe Teamwork Challenge)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Satin and Lace

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the MI6 Cafe Teamwork Challenge for March 2016. 
> 
> I worked with [procoffeinating](https://procoffeinating.tumblr.com/) on this one and we decided that we could always use more Q-in-lingerie stories. Now, I'm not really great at writing porn, but I thought I would give it a go, so hopefully this doesn't disappoint.
> 
> Now my teammate, Procoffeinating, on the other and, is an angel sent from heaven and drew [this great piece](https://frillsandcoffee.tumblr.com/post/142036291556/heres-first-part-of-the-awesome-collab-with-my) for Part 1 of this fic. I will never tire of seeing your art, especially when it's Q wearing something so sexy xD

The box arrived when Bond was away. It was small and brown, addressed to the fake name Q sometimes used when he made internet purchases he didn’t want vetted through headquarters. Just the sight of it in front of his door made Q’s mouth go a little dry, because he knew exactly what it meant when Bond sent him a gift like this. It meant it was private, not something to be flaunted around Q-Branch, and that knowledge caused a shivery thrill to take root at the base of his spine.

He almost dropped the box in his haste to open the door to his flat--three keys, two biometrics, one passcode--and in his excitement, nearly tripped over his cats at the threshold. Q pet them both as he shrugged out of his coat, then hurried into the kitchen to feed them.

While they were preoccupied, Q slipped into the bedroom and closed the door. He breathed once, twice. His heart was racing with excitement, his cock already half-hard in anticipation. Whenever Bond sent one of these packages, he was never disappointed.

He opened the box with his penknife, taking care to not to cut too deeply in fear of ruining whatever might be inside. Then he set the knife aside and opened the top flaps. Immediately, Bond’s cologne filled the room, and Q got a little weak in the knees. He loved the smell of it, loved how it would sink into his skin and make him smell like Bond all day, as if he were owned, possessed. Bond knew it too, and had swathed the item in tissue paper that had been scented with it, knowing how it would drive Q mad.

Swallowing, unwrapped the tissue paper slowly. The item inside was soft and flat. Definitely not a toy or a collar, something more like fabric, like…

Lingerie.

Q held up the item with trembling fingers. He and Bond had played with lingerie a few times, but only on rare occasions. Q loved the feeling of stockings and suspenders, the gossamer fabric of women’s knickers, but had always felt ashamed to admit just _how much_. Bond enjoyed seeing him dressed up too, but it wasn’t often he requested it. So Q didn’t push for it, only enjoyed the experiences when they arose.

And now, it seemed, it was one of those times.

Bond hadn’t just chosen a pair of knickers, either. This was something more...elaborate. From neck to cock, he’d be covered in silk and lace. Just the sight of the clasps and the crisscrossing straps had Q aching. What would it feel like to be bound up in all of it? To have Bond grip at the straps while he was fucking him?

Q felt compelled to try it on, to touch himself while thinking about just what sort of plans Bond had for him, but he noticed a note nestled in the tissue paper he’d set aside. On thick cardstock, written with an expensive nib pen, was a single word:

_Wait._

Q looked at the card, then at the lingerie, then back at the note. Even though Bond would never know, the instructions were clear. Bond said to wait, so Q would wait.

That didn’t mean, however, he couldn’t have a nice long wank in the shower.

**00Q00Q00Q**

A week later, Q woke early in the morning to the sound of his mobile ringing. It was still dark outside and very cold despite the two cats curled up on his feet. Q grumbled as he blindly reached for the phone, then retreated back under his blankets.

“This is Q,” he said.

“This is your morning wake up call.”

Bond’s voice had Q awake in an instant, but not out of fear or panic that something terrible had happened. In fact, it was the complete opposite. Bond only sounded like silk and honey when seducing, when waking Q from sleep with his cock already hard and pressed against his arse.

“James,” Q sighed, as he lazily tugged at his morning erection with his free hand, “where are you?”

“ _Sir_ ,” Bond reminded him, and Q swallowed at his commanding tone. “I’m in Berlin. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“A few hours?” Q asked, trying to keep the disappointment from his voice. It would have been awfully nice to hear that Bond was on the landing outside, ready to fuck him the moment he walked in the door.

“Patience,” Bond said.

Q made an impatient sound, and Bond laughed.

“Did you receive your gift?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And were you good?”

Q shivered and squeezed the base of his cock.

“Yes, sir,” he breathed.

“Good,” Bond said, and Q felt a rush of pride at his praise. “Are you touching yourself now?”

Q hesitated, because he knew lying would only make Bond punish him. And even though Bond’s punishments were always so very good, his rewards were better, so Q opted for the truth.

“Y-Yes.”

“Stop.”

And Q stopped.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good boy.”

The glowing pride came rushing back. He loved when Bond praised him.

“Now I have some specific instructions for you today. Are you listening?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good,” Bond said. “You’re going to get up, eat breakfast, and shower. Then you’re going to put on the gift I sent you.”

“I-I have to go to work today…” Q said, because as much as he would have liked to stay home to have marathon sex with Bond, he did have responsibilities.

“I know,” Bond said. “You’re going to wear it to work.”

“W-What?”

“You heard me. You’re going to wear it to work underneath your clothes. I want you to feel it against your skin all day, knowing what I’m going to do to you when you get home.”

“J-James!”

How could Q concentrate all day if the only thoughts he had were about getting shagged within an inch of his life by James Bond?

“I want to be debriefed today in Mallory’s office with you sitting next to me, wearing that under your clothes, and him having no idea at all.”

Q felt the heat rising in his cheeks just thinking about the situation. How mortifying would it be if Mallory found out? But the naughty thrill of it was also intoxicating. Q had to bite on his fist to keep from touching himself again.

“If you’re good, you know I’ll reward you,” Bond said, and it was a promise, Q could tell.

“Yes,” was all he could manage to say in reply.

“ _Sir_ ,” Bond reminded him.

“Yes, sir,” Q breathed.

“Good. Now get up and get ready. I’ll see you soon.”

Q nodded, even though Bond couldn’t see, and then laid there for some time after, listening to the dial tone in an attempt to calm down. He was going to wear lingerie to work. He was going to wear _women’s lingerie_ to work. Instead of being terrified, Q was harder than he’d ever been in his life.

But, no, not allowed to touch. Bond’s instructions were clear. Breakfast first, then shower, then dress and go to work. He could do this.

He pulled on his dressing gown and got up out of bed to go put the kettle on and feed the cats. There wasn’t much in the house in the way of food, so Q made some toast and drank Earl Grey while catching up on the morning news. The routine calmed him enough that he managed to take a morning piss through his still half-hard cock. To take care of the rest, he blasted himself with cold water in the shower for a minute or two, then bumped up the heat to something resembling lukewarm so that he could wash without catching pneumonia. Q paid special attention to his more intimate places, both in the shower and out, cleaning and trimming and shaving until he was smooth and fresh.

And then, it was time.

Q walked into the bedroom and opened the wardrobe door. It hung on a hook on the inside of the door, its black, shimmery fabric seductive and inviting. Q ran his fingers over it reverently before dropping his towel on the floor.

It took a moment to figure out how to get into it, but once he did, _oh_ did it look fabulous. He admired himself in the mirror for a long while: the way the straps looked pressed in patterns across his skin and thighs, his pert pink nipples straining against the lace sections over his chest, the heavy weight of his cock nestled in a thin pouch of black silk between his legs. There were no real pants to speak of, just a bit of fabric to support his cock and balls, leaving his arse bare and beautifully framed by black straps just below his arsecheeks.

Oh, but there could be more. There were suspenders dangling down his thighs and it wouldn’t do to waste the opportunity there…It only took Q a moment to procure a pair of black stockings from the back of his drawer, a moment longer to pull them up to his smooth thighs and clip them securely, and _god_ he looked amazing. It was nothing short of a crime to cover up.

But Bond had told him he had to go to work, so Q dutifully pulled on a pair of trousers over his stockings, then covered up with one of his usual white oxfords. He had to button his shirt up all the way to cover the cord around his neck, then made sure to secure that height with a tie so that it wouldn’t slip down during the day. Then he slid into his cardigan and checked his reflection in the mirror.

Oh, well that wouldn’t do…

If anyone happened to be looking (or just using their eyes in general) it would be patently obvious that he was not wearing appropriate pants. Q tried to adjust himself one way, then another, but the bulge in his trousers could not be hidden. Eventually, he had to give it up as a bad job. With no other resort, he got rid of the cardigan and pulled on an oversized jumper that hit him at mid-thigh, hiding his arousal entirely from sight. It wasn’t entirely work appropriate, but the labs were cold and he was Quartermaster for God’s sake. He could do what he liked.

With that in mind, Q nodded at himself in the mirror.

He looked like he ordinarily did. Nothing impressive at all, nothing that looked out of place. Nothing to indicate just what sort of debauchery he would be getting into that evening.

Christ, how was he supposed to make it through the day?

**00Q00Q00Q**

The day progressed at what felt like half its normal speed, but thankfully no one seemed particularly suspicious of his wardrobe or slightly awkward gait. Q couldn’t help himself on the latter, because every step rubbed his cock against the placket of his trousers, resulting in a persistent erection that he desperately wished he could take care of. If there was one thing he learned, it was that trying to prevent international incidents was especially difficult when sporting a hard on.

By lunchtime, he did feel slightly guilty at secretly turning down the thermostat by a few degrees. The labs were already cold, especially in winter, but Q was absolutely burning up between his arousal and heavy jumper. The minions, however, were freezing to death, and huddling together for warmth. Q had no doubts that they might start fires just to have a steady heat source.

But Q had other things to worry about aside from his staff. Bond’s plane had touched down over an hour ago, and his debrief was scheduled to begin in less than a half an hour. Q had to centre himself before then, because he couldn’t embarrass himself. Not in front of Bond, but certainly not in front of Mallory. He knew that Mallory already had his suspicions about their relationship, but they hadn’t come forward yet with it, even though it had been well over a year. The last thing Q wanted was to out them, and all because he could only think with his prick at the moment.

At the appointed time, Q made his way up to Mallory’s office. Eve wasn’t at her desk, and Q thanked his lucky stars. If anyone could figure out what was going on, it would be her.

Taking a breath, Q went up to Mallory’s closed door and knocked.

“Come in, Q,” Mallory said, and Q let himself inside.

Mallory sat behind his desk expectantly, but with an air of resignation that came from dealing with too much bullshit for not enough pay. A single folder rested in front of him, most likely Bond’s mission report. It was thin, and closed, both good signs that there wouldn’t be much to talk about in this meeting.

But before Q could say anything, the door to Mallory’s office opened.

“You’re late,” Mallory said.

“Fashionably.”

Q barely contained his shiver at the sound of Bond’s voice.

“I beg to differ, Bond.”

The door closed, then Q heard Bond’s footsteps approaching from behind him.

“Quartermaster.”

_Fuck_ Bond’s voice would kill him.

“Double-Oh Seven,” Q answered, with as much nonchalance as he could manage. It was a difficult thing to do while imagining Bond shagging him over Mallory’s desk, so he pointedly did not look at him.

“Sit down, both of you,” Mallory said, indicating the chairs in front of his desk. “Let’s get this over with. I’ve got a meeting with the PM in an hour.”

Bond gracefully slid into his seat, but Q had to take his with a bit more care. The moment he sat down, the straps between his thighs pulled deliciously taut, and Q had to keep from letting the pleasure show on his face. He also had to arrange his folder and tablet on his lap to hide the very apparent reaction he had to the change in position.

Mallory didn’t notice, already beginning the debrief, but Bond had. Q could feel the heat of his gaze, the presence of him in the small room, and if anything, that made him even harder. Then Bond began answering Mallory’s questions using a vocabulary that threatened to have Q blushing:

“ _Penetrated_ their base of operations--”

“ _Hard_ sell--”

“ _Indecent_ amount of weaponry--”

Bond knew what he was doing, too, making sure to emphasise each word he knew would impact Q the most. Mallory took notes, and Q pretended to, and after twenty minutes, Mallory dismissed them both.

Q kept a professional appearance until they reached the elevator. When they were inside, he wheeled on Bond with a growl.

“What in the _hell_ were you doing in there?”

Bond grinned playfully.

“Seeing just how red the back of your neck can get when I tease you.”

“Not at work. This little game can get us both fired. Be professional.”

“What’s the fun in that?” Bond asked, gripping at Q’s arse.

Q swatted at him with his tablet.

“Not at work,” Q repeated, turning his back to Bond. He was fine submitting to Bond at home, in the privacy of their flat, but not here. Work was his domain, and would stay that way.

“But what about a sneak peek?” Bond asked, breath hot on Q’s ear, his body suddenly, overwhelmingly close. “Just a minute. In your office.”

“No,” Q said, as Bond pressed his cock against his arse. It made him very aware of how much he had missed Bond while he’d been away, how desperately he needed to be fucked within an inch of his life.

“Five minutes,” Bond promised, kissing at Q’s neck. He had a bit of stubble, just the right amount that Q particularly liked, and it felt electrifying against his skin. “You can say I returned damaged equipment and you had to lecture me for it.”

“Fine,” Q broke down, unable to resist the drag of Bond’s arousal against him. “Five minutes. Now get off. I’m going to have to delete the security camera footage.”

Bond obediently backed off, and by the time they made it to Q’s office, he’d already deleted the video from the secure port on his tablet.

“Show me,” Bond said, the moment Q locked the door and enabled the security protocols: opaque windows, soundproofing, the works.

“Five minutes,” Q reminded him.

“Five minutes,” Bond promised, coming right up to him for a long overdue kiss.

Bond kissed him with an eagerness that only came post-mission, when Bond had been away too long and been itching to come back. It was the sort of kiss that made Q dizzy with pleasure, intoxicated at being wanted so ardently. When they parted, they were both panting, and Bond’s cock was pressed hard against him. Oh, and Q wanted so badly for Bond to fuck him right there, but they were at work, and Q had rules.

“I want to see,” Bond whispered.

“Not here,” Q said, but his voice came out weak as Bond trailed his fingers over his thighs.

“Just a peek,” Bond insisted, kissing, then nipping at Q’s lips playfully.

“J-Just a peek…” Q agreed, before Bond recaptured his mouth.

Bond undid Q’s flies with expert fingers, then slid his hand inside. Q jerked at the heat of his hand, the large palm that nearly encompassed all of his silk-covered cock. It felt unbelievably good to be touched, to have Bond touch him, and he was so wound up that he feared he might come right there.

“You’re so hard, Q,” Bond said, rubbing the heel of his hand against Q’s straining cock.

“I’ll come if you don’t stop,” Q whispered, and Bond removed his hand entirely, making Q keen, desperate for more contact.

“Do you want to come?” Bond asked, gently pushing Q up against the edge of his desk.

“Y-Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

Q felt his legs shake.

“Yes, _sir_.”

“Do you think I should let you?” Bond asked, as he slid Q’s trousers down his thighs.

“Please, sir…” Q panted, as Bond divested him of his trousers and shoes.

“You have been very good,” Bond said, spreading Q’s legs apart. It forced Q to perch on the edge of his desk, which turned out to be a good thing as he doubted his legs could support him much longer. “But…” Bond continued, sliding his heated palms along Q’s stocking-clad legs, “keeping you like this is tempting.”

He brushed his cheek against the inside of Q’s bare thigh, and Q gripped at Bond’s hair in warning.

“Sensitive,” Bond teased.

“I’ve been--” Q groaned around the words as Bond traced his lips over the straining bulge of silk between his legs, “since this morning!”

“Oh, well that just won’t do. You won’t even last a minute with what I’ve got planned for you,” Bond said, his hot breath moistening the fabric, making it cling to Q’s cock.

Expertly, Bond unbuttoned the front of Q’s playsuit, releasing his erection from the confines of the material. The next instant, Bond’s mouth was on him, and it felt nothing short of euphoric. Having denied himself for so long and craving Bond’s touch so much, Q knew he wouldn’t last. The moment Bond’s tongue caressed his frenulum, Q lost all control, coming before he could even breathe a warning.

Bond swallowed everything that Q gave him, suckling on him to the point where it was almost painful afterward. Then, as Q lay back on his elbows to recover, Bond buttoned him back into his playsuit and trousers.

“Alright?” Bond asked, and Q could only nod.

Bond pet at his hair, then kissed him sweetly. Q tasted himself on Bond’s lips and couldn’t help the little moan that escaped him. He’d just come and already was thinking about having Bond’s hands on him again.

“Now, now. There will be plenty of time for that later,” Bond said, helping him sit up and straighten his clothes.

Q was sure he looked well-fucked: mouth kiss-red and cheeks flushed, but that didn’t stop him standing up and trying for professionalism.

“That was more than five minutes.”

“You didn’t last that long, darling.”

That had Q blushing, because Bond was right. He’d shot off faster than a virgin getting his first blowie.

“You’ve been gone a long time,” Q said, because it was the truth. Bond had been gone for two months. Of course he’d fallen apart at the slightest touch. “I’ve missed you.”

“And I you,” Bond said, taking Q’s chin in his hand. “Now, I have some instructions for you. Are you listening?”

Q swallowed, then nodded eagerly in understanding.

“You’re going to go home early,” Bond said, “and you’re going to prepare yourself for me. Make sure you do a thorough job. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

Bond released him, then adjusted himself in his trousers to hide his erection beneath his suit jacket. Just the sight of that hard ridge had Q’s mouth watering, but no, not here. As much as he’d like to get on his knees and suck Bond off, he had to wait.

“I’ll see you in an hour,” Bond said, and let himself out.

Q stood there for a moment, reeling at what had just transpired _in his office_. He should have felt angry that Bond had broken the rules, but he couldn’t find it in him at the moment. All he could think about was getting home as soon as possible to see what else Bond had in store for him.

This, after all, had just been the preview. 

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you who might be interested! Procoffeinating made a NSFW sideblog [frillsandcoffee](https://frillsandcoffee.tumblr.com) to show off some additional Q-in-lingerie art, so go check it out!


End file.
